In White Silence I'll Stand
by Ready To Flyxxx
Summary: "Deeply rooted in tradition, red roses have come to symbolize a deep and true affection for another - love in its rawest and most simple form." Drew knows this, but when he gives roses to May, the meanings get lost in translation.


**(A/N): So, this came out really...angsty? Haha, it originally wasn't supposed to be, but what can you do?**

 **This story kind of just wrote itself, idk I just have it in my mind that Drew is too scared to tell May how he really feels, and the roses he gives her have so many meanings he wants to convey, but in the end he gives up and pretends they're for Beautifly.**

 **Anyways, I hope you all enjoy!**

* * *

in white silence i'll stand.

The roses were never for beautifly.

It's funny, really, and Drew used to laugh about it too, before it began leaving such a bitter taste in his mouth. For all of the times he has teased May about being too scared or too nervous or...well, too much of anything really, he has only been digging himself deeper and deeper into a hole of hypocrisy. It's not something he can just use an escape rope on either.

He stares at her profile all lit up from the backstage lighting of the contest hall, and watches as her blue eyes take in the sights of the stage in front of her: she's on next. There is a line of worry edged deep into the space between her eyes, and Drew imagines himself being the one to smooth it out (imagines the short strides he'd take to reach her; the feeling of her smooth skin beneath his fingertips, all warm and full; the hitch in her breath). He thinks of the way her hands clutch the pokeball hidden within them nervously, the taught muscles flexing involuntarily. Drew's throat tightens.

Her head turns to catch his gaze, and it's game over. "Drew," she speaks, a little surprised. Her resolve quickly hardens. "Are you ready to watch me kick butt?" (They're rivals, he has to remind himself).

"Oh I'm ready, although I think it would be safe to say that you'll probably end up kicking your own butt, when you can't even make it past the first round." He smirks, and is delighted at the way a glare blooms across the span of her features. His heart jumps widely in his chest.

"Why you-"

" _Calm down_ ," he rolls his eyes, "I'm kidding." He waits for her shoulders to visibly relax before continuing: "Actually, I'm ready to meet you in the final, then you'll really kick yourself when I beat you." His hand reaches up to flip his bangs, an act that knowingly drives May wild with anger.

She rants something at him then, but all Drew registers is the nervousness she held wash away with her words.

Behind him, he clutches the rose harder.

.

.

.

In the end, he fights some random girl with a vaporeon and wins a shiny new ribbon to add to his collection.

He watches May as she runs up to her two friends and her brother, Max, and receives comforting words that Drew thinks he could offer but remain stuck behind his tongue. He wishes they'd spill out, just as he wishes he could win at something other than a contest for a change.

.

.

.

It's rare to find May outside of a contest hall.

Drew prefers it to be that way, because then he's in his element, and it's easier for him to display his act of cool calm and collected when the well known variables are in place. He knows that May will come in fired up with her blue eyes blazing; knows she'll greet the others around her with enthusiastic naiveness; knows she'll take her Pokemon aside for a pre show pep talk; and knows that when she's minutes away from her performance, her heart will drop right into her stomach. May's always had a knack for pushing through her nervousness, though.

He notices other things too, of course. Notices the perfume she wears (just for the occasion) as she passes him by swiftly to her destination; notices the deep breaths she takes before jumping on stage; notices the slight waver in her voice as she calls her Pokemon out, quickly replaced by hardened steel. He notices how every time he meets her again, she's gotten better.

But what about him?

"For Beautifly," he'll say, like always, wearing a dashing smirk to hide his regret ( _because she doesn't understand she doesn't understand - she never understands_ ) and he'll hate himself a little more for every thinly veiled excuse.

.

.

.

"Do you ever miss home?"

Drew blinks, and turns his head to look at the brunette.

He nods after a moment's thought. "Yeah, I suppose I do sometimes." His green eyes move from her own to the floor and suddenly his shoes seem far more interesting. (Black with matching laces. Size 10). "But, sometimes I don't miss it nearly as much as I should," he admits.

They're attending a party, for coordinators and trainers alike. Drew hadn't really been in much of a partying mood, which is why he decided to journey outside onto the terrace - that's when he found her.

"I miss my home a lot," May confides, hugging her hands under her arms, "and my parents. Heck, I think I'd even miss Max if he weren't traveling with me."

"He's the one with the glasses, right? Your brother?"

May laughs. "Yeah, that's him."

Drew gives a little nod. "What's your hometown like?"

May's face takes on a dreamy look, nostalgia filling her eyes with a watery sheen. With the way her pink lips are smiling, Drew has to remind himself to breathe. "I come from Petalburg City. It's beautiful really, especially in the spring - that's when the blossoms on the trees begin to lose their petals. Imagine a great snow storm of flowers, er, like a great big petal dance being released into the air!" She throws her arms up with glee. "It's wonderful. The people there are so friendly too. Did you know my dad runs the gym?"

"No kidding?"

"Mm," May hums.

Drew raises an eyebrow. "I'm guessing battling doesn't run in the family then." He smirks for good measure.

"Hey!" May pushes him, and Drew wants to memorize the way her small hands press against his chest. He imagines her using those same hands to pull him by his collar, towards her face. Drew swallows hard.

"May I…"

"Hmm? What is it Drew?" She tilts her head at him curiously (her blue eyes are staring far too intently at him - and the words _would you please stop being so blindingly bright it's hurting me,_ flash through his mind).

"It's nothing, never mind."

Nothing, right. He just loves torturing himself, doesn't he?

She takes his silence as a means to continue the conversation."You know, Drew, it's actually kind of funny. When I'm gone from home, I find myself really missing it - but I'm not homesick. In fact, it's actually the other way around."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I don't know. It's just, everytime I go back, there's something pulling me away. It's almost as if...being home makes me realize just why I left it in the first place." He feels the burning of her gaze seep into him, as if searching for something. "You know?"

The sun begins to set, and it illuminates the horizon as if to prove her point; the last remaining sunlight trickles against May's face - _and Drew understands._

"Yeah."

.

.

.

Drew's knife slides like ice against the flower's stem - smooth and fast, and unrelenting in its veracity. The small thorns fall off into his lap easily - he'll brush them off later. For now he inspects his work, making sure he didn't miss anything. It has to be perfect, after all, and he's not a coordinator for nothing. He trails his fingertips up towards the petals. They're red, of course, because these things mean something, and if (he wasn't so scared to tell her the truth) May wasn't so clueless she might get that.

Once when he was younger, Drew remembers flipping through an old botanist textbook from his city's library. There was a whole section on roses - _rosa_ for the scientific name, part of the family _rosaceae,_ or something like that _._ There were countless pages dedicated to the flower's structure, its origin, and the many different species (some species, Drew found, have less petals then others). It talked about the thorns, and how they were actually prickles located on the outer layer of the stem's tissue. There was even a whole six pages dedicated to roselias alone. Drew had probably spent hours in that library, and he doesn't even remember why he was there in the first place. What really caught his attention, however, was the side section on colors and their meanings:

 _Deeply rooted in tradition, red roses have come to symbolize a deep and true affection for another - love in its rawest and most simple form. Still, there is a variety of meanings for the color as well: Beauty, Courage and Respect, Romantic Love, Congratulations, "I Love You", "Job Well Done", Sincere Love, and Passion._

Drew had cycled through the different meanings over and over again, until they became engraved into his mind.

 _A darker colored red can even mean "Unconscious Beauty." (...) While there are many meanings for the colors themselves, even the way they are presented can mean something. For example, a single rose is meant to convey the message, "I love you," and depending on whether or not the rose remains with prickles is another message. To give one a "thornless rose" is the equivalent of "Love at First Sight." Furthermore-_

Drew feels a quiet sound beside him, and suddenly Roselia nuzzles against his arm, breaking him from his thoughts. He smiles. "Hey there."

Outside the pokecenter is awash with rain, and Drew feels the heaviness of it consume him. "Guess we'll have to wait out the storm, huh?" Roselia nods.

Drew sighs. _Love, Beauty, Courage and Respect, Romantic Love, Congratulations, "I Love You", "Job Well Done"..._

 _Job well done._

The rain's not stopping, so Drew abandons his work.

.

.

.

"I like you," she insists, tightening her grip on Drew's wrist.

" _I really like you,_ " she emphasizes, when he becomes unresponsive. A bead of sweat rolls down Drew's neck. "But you don't like me back, do you Mr. Drew?"

"I'm sorry," is all Drew can manage, as he slowly unhooks his hand from Brianna. The girl frowns. There is a terrible moment of understanding that flickers across the girl's features, before she lowers her head down, auburn bangs concealing her face.

"No, you're not." She wipes the back of her hand across her eyes, slick with tears. "But that's okay. I'll live...probably." She shrugs her shoulders. She seems to have known it all along.

Brianna is a nice girl, and maybe if he had knew her before, things would be different, but he didn't fall for her, and he doesn't think he ever will. They're not alike.

The main difference between the two of them is that Brianna is brave; Drew's not.

.

.

.

So, here's the thing: May is beautiful. Not just because she has a pretty face, or a bright smile, or even a great body (a lot of girls have these things). She's beautiful in every other way too, and maybe it was a slow process to realize this for herself (maybe she still doesn't see) but for Drew... _for Drew…_

"Blaze kick," she gasps out, the command coming from somewhere deep within her gut, and even in the crowd Drew can see the look of utmost determination bloom across her face. The move is her last chance to score enough points in this battle, and the kick - powerful and accurate and _critical_ \- becomes also beautiful as the arc of her blaziken's leg burns bright and true, the orange flames decorating the space above and cracking down against his opponent's body with ferocity, little sparks of embers thrusting into the air. The crowd roars. It's a K.O. and May's eyes grow wet with happiness and admiration for her companion. She runs down and wraps her arms around her pokemon, congratulating him. For a moment, he swears their eyes meet and it's like a storm meeting a hurricane.

Drew folds.

.

.

.

Solidad corners him.

"You're running out of time, Drew," she admonishes, hands on her hips, and blue eyes narrowed. He has never been able to hide his feelings from this woman, she's too perceptive. "You have to stop fooling yourself. You like her, don't you?"

He does.

"Then why are you shying away?"

There are a lot of reasons.

"What if next time you see her, she's found someone else?"

Silence.

"Then what would you do, huh? How would you feel then?" Her eyes soften. "Drew, please. It's eating you up inside, I can _see it_. I don't want you to hurt anymore."

She means well, Drew knows she does, but there are things he just can't tell May, thoughts that have manifested deep within his mind that he can't break. Because, like he's said before, it's easy to remain stagnant. It's easier when the well known variables in place. Otherwise, everything falls apart. He doesn't know what he'd do if someone else loved May like he did, just as he doesn't know what he'd do if he told her.

What _would_ he do? Would he kiss her? Hold her?

Would she even let him?

.

.

.

Drew dreams he kisses her, and in his dream she kisses him back.

.

.

.

He holds the rose up proudly, his arm stretched outwards towards her body. There is a smirk on his face, hiding the uncertainty he feels. Across from him, she blushes like he expected her to, and takes the rose gingerly between her fingers.

"For Beautifly," he says, ( _like always like always like always - mewdamn it)_ and looks at her from under his bangs. "For a job well done." His voice cracks, and suddenly the weight of everything crashes upon him.

"Right," she affirms, "for beautifly."

He thinks she smiles then, but it doesn't quite reach her eyes.


End file.
